


Flowers for Esgaroth

by nossraiths



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: AU sort of, Eventual Romance, Gen, bard is smitten, legolas is clueless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 04:01:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nossraiths/pseuds/nossraiths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard and Legolas have met before, though only Bard recognizes him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flowers for Esgaroth

Bard was young when first he ventured into the woods, young and too busy for the courting of maids (yet he went anyway, on Bryn’s whim for the bright flowers that grew only under the eaves of the trees). He had not dared take his father’s barge so far from home, but the old boat was sturdy enough on the water and he was a strong swimmer, if it ever came to that.

Legolas was hunting for spiders, not human boys, but he paused in his search and crouched low on a branch overhead. The boy’s voice was rough and low as he sang to himself the songs of Dale-that-was, plucking flowers from their home. Legolas, who knew nothing of human love, wondered what had brought the Lake-man across the water to the wood.

The spider went by ground, and neither Legolas nor the young man from the Lake were prepared when it burst through the brush with legs pawing at the air and black eyes bright for blood. The human boy dropped to one knee and spilled his flowers across the loam, his bow and quiver laid to rest beyond his grasp.

“ _Rhaich_!” Legolas swore, and abandoned his watch-post, landing lightly on the spider’s back and driving a knife hilt-deep into the seam of head and thorax. Chill black ichor spurted across his hand and the spider’s legs snapped shut like a trap. Legolas wiped the blade of his knife clean on the bristling body and heaved the beast aside to free the human boy.

The Lake-man’s shoulder was bloodied and his eyes were rolling, wild with the pain and the poison. Legolas’s distraction may well have cost him his life. _Why had he come here on his fool’s errand?_ Legolas thought angrily. _Would the lives of Men now be bartered for blossoms?_

“What’s your name?” he asked instead, tearing the boy’s tunic and shirt away from the spider’s bite. The Westron words were bitter and flat on his tongue, like the last dregs of wine from the bottle.

“Bard,” the Lake-man replied. “Son of Gedmund. I can’t feel my shoulder—”

“Does your father know whence you’ve wandered?” Legolas asked, opening the flask at his hip and washing the worst of the blood away from the wound.

“No,” Bard answered. “That was the largest spider I’ve ever seen.”

“That one?” Legolas ripped a broad swath of cloth from Bard’s tunic and doused it with water with before pressing it against the bite as hard as he dared. “That one was young, like yourself.”

“Are you so old?” Bard asked through his teeth. “You cannot be more than twenty.”

“Twenty?” Legolas repeated, “I am some years older than that, son of Gedmund. I would have you sit up now, if you are able.”

He put one of his knives in Bard’s lap once he was propped against a tree and Bard grasped his ankle.

“Where are you going?” he wondered.

“It will only be a moment,” Legolas told him, “Be quiet now.”

When the spiders first came all the elves of the guard had been taught to treat their bites with _athelas_ , but it had been a long time since Legolas had permitted a spider near enough to bite him. All the same, _athelas_ was readily at hand in the brush and roots and he returned quickly to the boy Bard.

Bard’s ruddy complexion had turned faintly green, and Legolas crushed the _athelas_ leaves between his fingers before pressing them into the wounds left by the spider’s fangs. The Lake-man cried out sharply and Legolas put his shoulder into Bard’s chest to keep him still.

“Hurts,” Bard snarled.

“I know,” Legolas replied, “But there is no kinder way.” Bard’s fingers were pressing bruises into the small of Legolas’s back, but he did not complain.

When the worst of the pain had come and gone and left Bard quiet, Legolas gathered up the scattered flowers and bound them together with one of his bowstrings. He settled the bundle on Bard’s chest and crouched next to him, listening for the crackling of spider limbs and bristles in the trees.

“How old are you, then?” Bard asked, and Legolas put his hand to the boy’s brow.

“If you are not twenty,” Bard pressed, “How old are you?”

“I was conceived when Dale was new-laid stone,” Legolas replied. “Would you be able to drink?”

“That would make you nearly two thousand years old,” Bard said, and Legolas tipped the flask to his lips. The spider-bite fever had made Bard thirsty; he would need to get fresh water from the Lake.

“By your estimation,” he agreed.

“Then you are Elvish,” Bard declared, “For a Man of that age would not be so hardy nor so fair as you are.”

“You guess correctly,” Legolas replied. “And now you will answer one of my questions, Master Bard.”

“I will do my utmost,” Bard told him, his grave dark eyes fever-bright.

“What business brings a man from the Lake beneath the eaves of the Mirkwood?” Legolas asked.

“Bryn was wanting flowers,” Bard answered. “I had seen them growing in the trees in spring, and I thought to fetch them for her.”

“That was unwise council,” Legolas said, “Can Bryn not find her own flowers?”

“She would not have much love for me if I told her to find them herself,” Bard replied, and the blood rose to his cheeks.

“Love,” Legolas repeated. “Then you and Bryn are wed?”

He thought the young man might be choking on his tongue, and thumped him solidly on the back until Bard’s throat had cleared.

“I will return with more water,” Legolas told him, once again leaving his knives with Bard while he walked to the riverbank to fill his flask. When he returned Bard was asleep, and Legolas took up his watch and waited.

“I have to go home,” Bard said abruptly as the sun was sinking behind the trees. “My da will be wondering where I am.”

Bard’s skin was still warm, but damp with sweat; the fever had broken while he was sleeping. Satisfied, Legolas sat back on his haunches.

“What will you tell him?” he asked, “That you were picking flowers and lost track of the sun?”

“Aye, it would be far better to tell him I was bitten by a spider in the woods where I’m not wanted,” Bard replied, and Legolas handed him up to his feet.

“Your people have better fortune in the water than the woods,” Legolas told him, “Though I will not say you were unwanted.” In days of old there had been a merry trade between Dale-that-was and the Greenwood, and the voices of men had rung across the waters of the Forest River.

They arrived at the riverbank and there was the Lake-man’s small boat waiting impatiently to disembark, tugging at its rope like a pony at the bit. Bard set his bound flowers in the prow of the boat and freed it from its moorings. Legolas watched the sailing boat drift down the water until suddenly Bard turned around and cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Thank you!” he shouted, and Legolas lifted his hand in farewell.

~~~

Bard had never learned the name of his fair and forthright rescuer, but the bloodied and smoke-blackened elvish warrior was unmistakably he.

“Who passes?” he asked, standing from his camping fire, and the elf looked at him with keen blue eyes.

“All is well,” he replied, “There will be aid from Mirkwood soon enough, but I am content to stand my guard here for the night.”

“You may sit,” Bard offered, “I believe the worst has passed us over for the night.” He gestured towards the dark water and the smoldering ruin of Laketown and the elf inclined his head in agreement.

“Do you know Bard of Esgaroth?” the elf asked. “His father was Gedmund. I had heard he survived the desolation of the dragon.”

“Yes,” Bard replied, “He has three children and the slaying of the dragon to his name.”

“Better news than I had hoped for,” the elf said, “Where may I find him?”

“He is here before you,” Bard told him, and a smile bright as sunshine broke across the fair face.

“Well met, Bard,” he declared, “You have done some growing since last we met.”

“And you have not aged a day,” Bard countered, smiling in return. “I never had your name, Master Elf.”

“Legolas,” the elf replied, sitting cross-legged at Bard’s fire. “Three children, you said?”

“A boy and two girls,” Bard agreed, “The boy nearly the age I was when we first met.”

“And your wife?” Legolas asked, and something in Bard’s face must have spoken for him. “ _Ai_ , forgive me. The night has been long and I spoke without thinking.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Bard answered. “I yet owe you my life, Master Legolas.”

“May you never have reason to repay it,” Legolas replied. “I am glad to have found you and yours well, Bard.”

They sat quiet for a little while, Legolas’s eyes on the fire and Bard’s eyes on Legolas. It was a comfortable silence, but Bard wondered how he could draw Legolas forth once more. 

“The watches of the night are long and lonely,” he said presently. “Would you permit me to sit them with you?”

“I would not,” Legolas replied promptly. “You have the care of your children to think of, and morning is nearer than you think.” He paused and rose easily to his feet, hefting his bow in his hand.

“Good night then, Legolas,” Bard told him. “May your watch be quiet.”

“Good night, Bard,” Legolas answered, “Dream long and well.”

**Author's Note:**

> Legolas probably isn't as stupid about humans and love as I made him sound, but he was cuter and more fun to write as a totally clueless badass elf warrior.
> 
> All hail the return of Bryn, the name I chose for Bard's unnamed canonical wife in "Mereth." Bryn comes from the Old Norse "Brynja," which means "armor/protection." 
> 
> Made up the name of Bard's dad, also from Old Norse. "Gedmund" is a bastardization of "Gudmund," which means something like "the gods' protection." Also, it sounds hilarious and I'm keeping it. 
> 
> P.S. My knowledge of the use of athelas/kingsfoil is limited to the books and movies, where they can pretty much do whatever they damn well please with it. If you protest my blatant misuse of athelas and think Legolas would be carrying anti-venom around somewhere in that tight Mirkwood warrior get-up, feel free to correct me and tell me where he's keeping it.


End file.
